


Dear Friends

by loveheartlover



Category: Glee
Genre: Letters, M/M, vague mention of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveheartlover/pseuds/loveheartlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is a celebrity who decides he wants to give something back to his many fans, as a thank you for the moving letters he gets every single day. He writes very personal, beautiful blog entries every week for a year. In them, he shares his hopes, his dreams, snippets of his past, and each entry starts the same: Dear Friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Friends

_Letter 16- April 19th_

Dear Friends,

This morning, I woke up to a clap of thunder and the lights in my building going out. I slid from the embrace of warm sheets to walk into my kitchen, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark I realised I could see each breath misting before me. My kitchen contains my candles, and this is a path I have trodden more times than I would care to admit, as I have found I can never remember where I put my phone each night and thus lose it as a light source at the times I need it the most.

When I was younger, I used to be so very afraid of the dark. Until I was six, I shared a bedroom with my older brother, and if I woke up to darkness he would let me crawl into bed beside him. He'd complain in the morning that I was like a baby monkey, clinging too tightly, that I made him feel trapped. The truth is, I think he found comfort in having me there as well. Even when he got his own room, he would still come into mine or invite me into his. It wasn't thunder that woke us then. Or rather, not the thunder you might be used to. The steadily increasing rumble from down the hallway, as my father raised his voice and fists in anger, was far more terrifying than any thunderstorm could ever hope to be.

The day we left him, my brother and mother and me, that was the day I stopped being afraid of the dark. If mother argued with her new boyfriend, they did so in the light of day, and their arguments sounded more like the debates you might hear on the radio. There were no more bruises, no more raised voices. There was no more reason to be scared.

The lights came back on at noon, but by then my day had begun and the candles were long extinguished.

I love the sky after a thunderstorm. I love the electricity that still sparks in the air. It always feels like something new, something exciting, something wonderful is about to happen.

I met my new neighbor as I came back from my run.

His name is Kurt, and when he smiled at me it felt as though my heart had been set alight.

I wonder if he likes thunderstorms too.

Until next week,

Blaine.

_\-----------------------------------------------_

_Letter 20- May 3 rd_

Dear Friends,

All week I have been running from place to place, and I think I might have forgotten what it was to breathe if it weren’t for the wonderful people I am fortunate to be surrounded with. When you think about being famous, a celebrity, you only give passing thought to how much work is involved in the matter. My life is not how I had dreamed it might be, and although I wouldn’t trade it for anything and do not wish to sound ungrateful, sometimes I miss being able to just drop everything and leave for a few hours, days, weeks.

I have been in the studio every single day for the last week, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that the next album is coming along well. No spoilers, but I think you’re really going to like this one.

I hope you will, anyway.

An old friend of mine got in touch after my last letter. We were in high school together, and although we were in different years I still remember being close to her. I think it came from being in Glee club together. When I went away to college we lost touch, and now she tells me that she is about to graduate from her own college soon. How quickly time flies when you don’t know to watch out for it. The hours are slipping by like sand through a child’s outstretched fingers, and I fear I will blink and find myself to be eighty years old and unable to remember any of them.

Don’t blink just yet,

Blaine.

 -----------------------------------------------

_Letter 27- June 21 st_

Dear Friends,

Today is the Summer Solstice, and I will be spending it at a bonfire with my closest friends. For once I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, and it feels wonderful. Yesterday my brother came to visit, and he brought with him his two little girls. They are so beautiful, and in the eldest I see so clearly her mother. She wasn’t old enough to remember Allison before she died, and the youngest took only a few breaths in her presence before she passed on, but still their mother lives on in them. Not just in their looks, though I know for a fact they don’t get their auburn locks and apple cheeks from Cooper. Cara is so careful, so caring, and when little Rowan laughs her whole body trembles like a baby bird about to take its first flight. It makes you wonder, watching those girls, just how much genetics plays a part in your personality.

I just count my blessings that neither inherited Cooper’s big head, or, god forbid, my eyebrows.

At the bonfire tonight I am sure we will drink too much and wake up half-naked in the middle of a field with no recollection as to how we got there in the first place, and I cannot wait. Perhaps I will have new stories to tell you in my letter next week.

I’m sure Tina will have plenty of embarrassing photos to put on Instagram for you all.

Sam convinced the neighbors to join us, Kurt and Mercedes and Elliott. T and I have bets on how many glasses of that weird apple cider it will take to get Sam to ask Mercedes out. Fingers crossed it doesn’t take him more than four, otherwise I’m out a hundred dollars and have to do something HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE.

My poor publicist might quit when she finds out.

Drink and be merry!

Blaine.

 -----------------------------------------------

_Letter 28- June 28 th_

Dear Friends,

I wonder how many of you are reading this hoping there will be more photos from That Night. Well I can tell you right now that there will be no more, Tina has been vanquished and her phone taken hostage while Sam works out where she’s hidden the rest of the copies. I would like to reiterate what I said on Twitter earlier this week- painting your nipples and streaking across corn fields is NOT the kind of thing you should be partaking in.

Especially if you are under eighteen.

I haven’t seen the neighbors since that night. Perhaps they moved away without telling me, fearing me and my neon nipples might pursue them and make further headlines out of their poor, unassuming selves.

We will speak no more about it.

Blushing until dawn,

Blaine.

 -----------------------------------------------

Letter 34-  _August 9 th_

Dear Friends,

It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow, so I am home for the weekend. It’s so strange to be back in my teenage self’s bedroom.  She hasn’t moved anything. Did I ever tell you that I used to collect robots? There are shelves and shelves of tiny, painted robots.

I have no idea how I used to sleep in here, with all those eyes just staring down at me. I suppose I should just be grateful that I didn’t collect antique dolls. Tomorrow, I’ll upload a few photos on Instagram so you can get a glimpse of just how creepy it is in here. Maybe you have some suggestions for how I could redecorate?

Cooper and the girls are here, of course, and Sam came too. Sometimes I think my mom likes him more than she does me. She greets him like the prodigal son returning home, while Cooper and I are shooed aside so she can embrace him.

Suck up.

Kurt has come too. We grew up just a couple of hours away from one another, so we flew back to Ohio together and he has gone to see his father and step-mother. Mom has insisted he comes back for her birthday dinner. She saw that photo of him Tina uploaded- no, not THAT one, the one of us at Unique’s premiere when he came as my ‘date’- and decided she liked him based purely on his dress sense. Her and my step-father are renewing their vows soon.

Maybe she’s hoping he’ll design her dress for her.

Considering I told you in May that the album was going well, I know you must be getting frustrated that I don’t have a release date for you yet. I’ve been having trouble with the last few songs. Nothing sounds right. At night, I can hear the music I want to create in my head, but by the time I have a pen or my phone to make a note of it, the sound has faded away. I feel like there are tiny fairies hiding under my pillow, blowing sweet music into my ears and snatching it away when they sense I am getting too close.

Or perhaps I need to lay off the fantasy novels for a few weeks.

I’m trying, I promise.

Blaine.

 -----------------------------------------------

_Letter 38- September 6 th_

Dear Friends,

Never agree to babysit.

I don’t know  _anything_  about children.

Cooper dropped the girls off yesterday for a ‘fun weekend with Uncle Blaine’ while he went to a bachelor party. It’s not like I begrudge him the time off, but I think the girls would be having much more fun if they were staying with their Auntie Linnie. For one thing, my apartment is not child friendly. There are plug sockets and sharp objects and big open windows, and I honestly thought Rowan had toddled her way right off the balcony until Cara revealed she’d put her in the dishwasher.

Yes, the dishwasher.

It appears my eldest niece isn’t as sweet and innocent as she leads you to believe.

I had to call for back up when I woke up this morning and found Cara trying to stuff Rowan into the toilet.

 My apartment has been turned into one giant, never ending blanket fort. It took us the better part of four hours to construct the monster, and once it was finished the girls were so tired that they fell asleep on the bare mattress in my bedroom with stained mouths and their day clothes still on.

I guess I’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight.

It was a fun day though, if you put the spine tingling horror to the side.

 Kurt has the best ideas.

Sleep well,

Blaine.

\-----------------------------------------------

_Letter 45-October 25 th_

Dear Friends,

I have a release date for the album! It’s being announced formally tomorrow, so for now I’m having to keep these lips zipped, but it’s SOON so you can finally stop shouting at me to get back into the studio! Something about the last few weeks finally got the music flowing, and it took me just three days to get the whole thing finished up. Three days after  _months_ of battling with myself and quite seriously contemplating scrapping the whole thing and starting again. I’m glad I didn’t.

It’s Halloween soon! Do you have costume ideas yet?

This year, there’s a big Halloween masquerade ball being thrown by Tina and Unique, so we’re all going along to that. I can’t wait.

Spookily yours,

Blaine

 -----------------------------------------------

_Letter 46- November 1st_

Dear Friends,

I guess the cat is out of the bag! Thanks, Sam.

Yes, Kurt and I are together. We have been for a few weeks now, but were hoping to keep it quiet a little bit longer so we could enjoy being together without the pressure that comes with you all knowing. I guess we should have known we couldn’t keep it up for long, not in this day and age. Cameras are everywhere, and masquerade balls are just  _too tempting_. So many dark corners, so little time…

 In some ways it makes it easier though. It has been exactly 30 weeks since I first met him, a fact I only know because I wrote about him in one of these letters the very day we met. Just 30 weeks, and already it feels like a lifetime. Have you ever felt that way about someone?  Conversations about nothing very much at all suddenly become the most fascinating topics imaginable, because it involves him, and that’s enough. I thought I had been in love before, but looking back on those relationships now I wonder if it was ever love at all. The spark between us was nothing compared to the flames that lick across my chest and into my head and heart and belly whenever Kurt looks my way.

It’s getting colder now, but I don’t feel the chill the way I used to.

With love,

Blaine.

 


End file.
